Wrong Number, Right Answer
by BistaUss
Summary: Fic for A Monthly Rumbelling on Tumblr. Mr. Gold tries to call his therapist but calls the library instead.


The library phone didn't ring very often, which was good news for Belle since she was the only person working at the library, and she hated being confined to a desk all day. She'd much rather spend her time dusting, organizing books, and getting distracted from organizing when she found a book with an enticing title.

She was across the building and halfway up a ladder, re shelving some encyclopedias when the shrill ring pierced the air. Surprised, she almost dropped the books, but managed to set them down gently before scrambling down the ladder and rushing for the desk. She grabbed onto the chair beside the desk to halt her momentum and snatched up the phone. By the time she got it up to her ear, someone was already speaking.

"Don't say anything, just listen," came the gravelly voice of the landlord, Mr. Gold. For a moment, Belle was frozen with shock. Why would he be calling the library? And why did he sound distressed? Before she could respond, he continued. "Since our last meeting, I've been doing some introspection, and I think I have a few answers."

Several things clicked into place in Belle's mind. Mr. Gold had been seeing Dr. Hopper, the therapist. Dr. Hopper's office number was just one digit off from the library's number. Mr. Gold, the most intimidating and impressive man in town, was about to spill some very personal thoughts over the phone. And Belle should definitely say something to stop him before it was too late.

"My son resents me because I am controlling and manipulative."

It was too late.

Belle was curious about everything, always wanting to learn more about anything she could. Here was a chance, albeit a dishonest and tricky one, to learn more about the stand offish Mr. Gold. Despite the little voice in the back of her mind saying how awful this was, it was too enticing to pass up. Sitting down and clutching the phone close to her ear, she listened.

"Of course, I knew that already, as we've discussed. I have no problem identifying those qualities in myself, obvious as they are. But specifically you suggested that I think on where the need to be that way comes from, what made me feel the urge to control everything around me. After some thought it is clear that it comes from my ex wife." Mr. Gold paused, took a deep breath, and went on. "Milah was controlling in a more subtle, quiet way. She had a talent for making people feel small, insignificant. To find the worst in someone and bring it out into the open."

Belle could hear the emotion churning below his attempt at stoicism. Clearly he was trying to sound as if it didn't matter, but it was apparent that he had been hurt to the core. She wanted to say something, to offer comfort, but he was speaking again.

"I believe she had an image in her mind when we married of what she expected her husband to be. When I didn't fulfill that image to her satisfaction, rather than do something reasonable, she decided to spend the rest of our time together punishing me. She would belittle and mock until she had me convinced that I was worthless."

The next breath he drew shook just a little, and Belle's heart ached.

"When she left, I decided that no one would ever make me feel that way, make me weak, again." His voice was determined but tinged with sadness. "I remade myself into what I am now, and at first, it was better. I felt more powerful than I had in my entire life. But I can see that this path will cost me my son. As much as I need to be in control, I know that I need to change, because I am not willing to lose him. I just don't know how to change."

There was a long pause. Belle scarcely dared to breathe. He had come to the end of his speech, and now she was frozen with trepidation.

"This is where you come in with something useful, Doctor," Mr. Gold prompted.

Belle choked out, "I'm not Dr. Hopper." The silence that followed was deafening. With her heart in her throat, words came tumbling from her. "You must've misdialed, this is the library and I'm Belle French, and I should've said something sooner, or just hung up when I realized what had happened, but you just started talking and I didn't know what to say and I'm so so sorry please don't be upset -"

"Miss French, do calm down," Mr. Gold interrupted, in a voice that was commanding, but not harsh. Belle's mouth snapped shut, and he went on. "While you should have said something much sooner, perhaps I also should have made certain of the number I was calling. As it is, I would appreciate it immensely if you kept this little mishap to yourself. I might be attempting to make some changes, but I still have a reputation."

"Of course I will," Belle replied, trying and failing to keep the amazement out of her tone. Not only was he not upset, he seemed to be amused by the whole situation. She couldn't believe her good luck.

"Thank you," he said. "Should I make a similar mistake in future, feel free to hang up on me."

Belle couldn't help a surprised laugh. "I'll keep that in mind," she told him. "But, Mr. Gold..."

"Yes?" he prodded when she hesitated.

"I don't mean to push in or anything, and you've got Dr. Hopper, but if you need a-a friend to listen, you could call me."

There was another pregnant pause, and this time his voice was hesitant as he answered, "That's very kind, Miss French."

"Belle," she corrected, smiling.

"Belle," he acknowledged, and she thought it sounded like he was smiling too. "Good bye."

"Bye," she said, and hung up. She stayed in the chair, gazing absently at the phone for a few minutes, still a bit stunned by the whole ordeal. When she came to her senses, she went back to the the ladder and carried on with the shelving. She gave herself a little shake. As nice as Mr. Gold had seemed, she doubted she would hear from him again, except when the rent was due of course.

A week went by with nothing exciting or out of the ordinary happening at all, unless a raccoon sneaking in the back door counted as exciting. Belle was dusting some shelves in the back, humming softly to herself, when the phone rang. The duster clattered to the floor as she sprinted to the front desk.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Belle," Mr. Gold's voice was more tentative than she'd ever heard. "I wonder, do you have a moment to spare?"

Belle smiled brightly and settled into her chair. "I certainly do."


End file.
